


When to Yield

by puella_nerdii



Category: Suikoden III
Genre: Community: areyougame, F/F, Fight Sex, Sparring, lady commanders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-11
Updated: 2012-03-11
Packaged: 2017-11-01 19:50:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puella_nerdii/pseuds/puella_nerdii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sparring is about giving as good as you get, but sometimes you have to get before you give.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When to Yield

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the March 2012 round of [areyougame](http://areyougame.dreamwidth.org) for the following prompt: _Suikoden III, Chris/Lucia: sparring - is this what you meant by weakness?_

"How long has it been?" Lucia asks, flexing her wrists. 

"Too long," Chris is forced to admit, and laces her arms over her head, sighs as her shoulders crack and release. She pulls her right arm across her chest, then her left; her muscles tingle and warm, but there are knots wound deep in her biceps that she hadn't realized were there until now. Too much swordplay and not enough stretching, she supposes. It's strange to go through her exercises outside instead of in her chambers, and to have Lucia watch her with a teacher's sharp eye. It's strange, too, to wake up the muscles she hasn't had to for a long time. Strange, but useful.

"But you've learned how."

"Of course," Chris says. "We all learned hand-to-hand combat in our training. A knight can't afford to fight only with a sword." 

"Wise of your teachers," Lucia says, and Chris thinks she hears the faintest trace of, if not admiration, then at least respect. "We think the same in Karaya." She shifts her weight and lunges to the side, rests her elbow on her bent knee but keeps her trunk straight. "A true fighter isn't limited to the weapon in their hand. They know how to call strength from everything around them."

Chris inclines her head, conceding the point, and rolls out the last of the cricks in her neck. "Shall we begin?" she asks. Her skin prickles with anticipation, and she reminds herself to breathe, stay loose. 

Lucia smiles and in answer sinks into a low stance, begins circling. She doesn't speed up when she crosses one foot in front of the other, as Chris has been chided for doing more than once. Each step follows the same measured progression, and it's a struggle not to stare and admire the artistry of it all.

Then Lucia strikes, her foot aimed squarely at Chris's chest, and Chris barely manages to block in time.

She's fast. Chris has watched her fight enough to know that, to watch how she twists under blades and changes her whip's direction with flicks of the wrist too small to see. But it's one thing to know that and another to experience it, and Lucia flows from strike to block to strike again as though she's dancing. By the time Chris aims a counter-blow at her stomach Lucia has sidestepped her, brought the blade of her hand down on the space between Chris's shoulderblades. Chris stumbles forward, and Lucia's knee rams into her side—she coughs, but gains her breath in time to duck under Lucia's next strike and land a solid punch between Lucia's ribs.

Now Lucia steps back and Chris presses her advantage. Lucia leans to the left but Chris sees the way her right foot trails in the dust. It's a feint. It has to be. Chris kicks right, and her heel connects with Lucia's thigh, hard enough that the slap rings.

"So you do know how to use your legs," Lucia says, and a different kind of heat rises to the surface of Chris's skin.

There's no time to think about that, though, because Lucia springs towards Chris, twists her hips at the last second, and— _oh,_ that smarts. Her forearm wasn't nearly enough to block that kick, and her bones still buzz when she seizes Lucia by the elbow and tries to twist her arm back. Lucia hooks her leg around Chris's and tugs before Chris can untangle herself. It doesn't send Chris sprawling on her back, but it throws her off-balance. Goddess, she swore she used to be better than this. Sweat trickles down between her eyes; she wipes it away, her breath sharp in her chest.

As though Lucia's listening to Chris's thoughts, she says, "You've been fighting in armor for too long. You've forgotten how to bend, how to spread your energy through your whole body."

It's hard not to concede that point, particularly when Lucia lands a flurry of kicks on Chris's back. But something about the way she says it, the way her lips curved, the line of her hip—no. Chris sets her jaw. Now isn’t the time for her to lose focus.

"If you brace yourself for every hit, you'll shatter," Lucia says. "Even well-tempered steel knows when to bend."

Chris would argue that she _hasn't_ tried to meet every blow head-on, that she did pick up some things from her instructors. Her throat, however, is too dry for any sound other than a dry rattle. 

"It isn't weakness to let someone in, sometimes."

That—well, that could mean too many things, and the middle of a sparring match isn't the right time to consider all of them. She moves in for a cross-cut to Lucia's jaw—

\--and Lucia drops down, knocks Chris's ankles aside with a sweeping kick and knocks her flat on her back.

Before she struggles to her feet again, Lucia is on top of her. Quite literally. Chris swallows. Lucia doesn't weigh nearly as much as Chris does but she seems to be made entirely of sinew and coiled muscle. Her legs trap Chris's thigh, her hands pin Chris's shoulders, and Chris can't find it in her to break Lucia's grip.

"Will you let me show you?" Lucia asks, and heat thrills at the base of Chris's spine.

She's been teased, gently, about being slow to pick up these kinds of hints. Perhaps she is. But Lucia's slow smile and the pressure of her thigh make it impossible to, well, _not_ notice.

"Yes," Chris says, and parts her lips for Lucia's kiss.

It's not the kind of kiss she's used to. Lucia _does_ know how to use everything as a weapon, it seems. Her teeth scrape Chris's lip; her tongue slides into Chris's mouth before Chris can respond. When Chris presses her mouth more insistently to Lucia's, Lucia presses just as hard back—until she breaks away and traces kisses along Chris's jaw. Chris shudders, straining up, but Lucia murmurs, "Still too tense," and bites Chris where her neck and jaw connect. 

Goddess, she hopes she doesn't have to explain that bruise, but the pulse of Lucia's lips and teeth there is so _good_ that Chris can't bring herself to stop it. _I've found your weakness_ , she half-expects Lucia to say, but Lucia doesn't. She runs her nails along Chris's scalp and Chris is about to do the same, but her hand settles on Lucia's shoulder first and gripping her there feels right. The tingle in her scalp travels down her back, makes even her toes draw tighter. _Spread my energy through my whole body indeed_ , she thinks, and can't tell if she laughs or gasps.

Lucia's hand slides higher through Chris's hair, her fingers tangling in its strands. She's going to look frightful when this is done. But that's not really anyone else's concern, is it? And really, it's hard to think of what might happen later when what's happening now is, well, this consuming. The tension at the corners of her eyes melts away at last. Lucia's mouth sears her lower, at the collarbones and the hollow of her throat, and Chris rolls her hips up before she realizes what she's doing.

"You moved faster just then than you did during our spar," Lucia murmurs into Chris's skin. "You're quite responsive when you're more at ease."

"—ah," Chris says, and can't blame the redness in her cheeks on exercise alone. "Thank you?"

Lucia smiles into the curve of Chris's shoulder, then lifts her head, trails her hand over Chris's breast. Oh Goddess, it's been too long since anyone did that.

"I know you don't have many opportunities to be at ease." Even through the cloth of Chris's shirt, Lucia's hands tease Chris into unbearable sensitivity, where every touch sends tiny jolts shuddering through her. "But you're carrying all your concerns in your body, and that will only leave you stiff and slow."

It's wise advice. Wise as it is, though, Chris has to wet her lips before asking, "Then, ah—well—"

The words still stick in her throat. She grinds her teeth, counterproductive as it is.

"Shall I help you release that tension?" she asks, and this time Chris manages a _yes_ that's as much a sigh as a word.

When Lucia tugs Chris's pants down, she fears she might faint. It’s a good thing she doesn't, because Lucia's knuckles slide through the wetness gathering between Chris's legs, and Chris's breath slams out of her chest. Lucia smiles, presses the pad of her thumb where Chris is most sensitive—goddess, where did she learn to rub it like that? Chris reddens, and images flash through her mind of Lucia doing this to other women or perhaps to herself, grinding against her own hand with her legs spread.

"Should I—" Chris begins. She can't finish, but Lucia understands and shakes her head.

"Not now," she says. "For now, I want you to feel."

Her fingers slip inside, and description absolutely defies Chris. All she knows in that moment is the burn, the thrill, the sweet tingling ache.

"You're lovely like this," Lucia says, crooks her fingers and strokes—Chris isn't sure _what_ she strokes, but it sears her throughout. Her legs quiver—"Breathe," Lucia instructs her, and she does, harsh and unsteady at first but then in time with the thrusts of Lucia's hand. Chris can't help but remember the way Lucia fought, smooth and flowing and precise. She knows just where to strike now, and each pulse of her thumb and nudge of her knuckles makes Chris shove her hips higher.

Lucia bears down on her, forces her back to the ground. Chris struggles, still speared on Lucia's fingers, but Lucia shakes her head. "You don’t need to use so much force."

All right. She'll try. She closes her eyes, tents her legs up but doesn't dig her heels into the ground, lets her grip on Lucia's shirt ease. Lucia moves again, strong and sure, and the motion rolls up Chris's spine. She bears down on Lucia's hand with more than her hips, and Lucia matches that, presses forward with more than her hand when she goes further in. The line between action and response blurs and Chris sinks deeper into the sensation, the rush of heat through her legs and groin. Lucia's breath is as ragged as her own, hot against Chris's cheek. Chris arches to kiss her and that kiss joins with the rest, with the flow of breath and body.

Their pace increases until the strain reminds Chris of running. She cries out into Lucia's mouth and Lucia offers some of the sound back to her, and it's enough to make Chris collapse at last, spent for now.

She sprawls beneath Lucia, breathless and boneless and content.

"How do you feel now?" Lucia asks.

"Better, I think," Chris says. She doesn't feel the need to lift her head to respond, which says enough in and of itself.

"Good." Lucia kisses her again, then gets to her feet, and Chris remembers to do her trousers back up. "Let me know if you'd like a rematch. I look forward to seeing what you've learned."

_So do I_ , Chris thinks, and settles into the grass to watch the clouds drift across the sky.


End file.
